


Bruises

by i_am_still_bb



Series: Gathering Fiki - 12 Days of Christmas (2019) [2]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Physical hurt/comfort, Skiing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_still_bb/pseuds/i_am_still_bb
Summary: Anders and Mitchell go skiing (no, not that kind, you degenerate) and Anders is overly cocky in his abilities.--Written for Gathering Fiki's12 Days of Christmas Event- Day 7
Relationships: Anders Johnson/John Mitchell
Series: Gathering Fiki - 12 Days of Christmas (2019) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570915
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: GatheringFiKi - 12 Days OF Christmas 2019





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about one of them being a member of ski patrol and rescuing the other, but I did not have time to do the research needed for that. I might save that idea for another time.
> 
> \--
> 
> Inspired by damnitfili's fantastic [photoset!](https://gatheringfiki.tumblr.com/post/189759564285/12-days-of-christmas-day-7-special-thanks-to)

It all started with a dare.

And a smile.

And a bit too much alcohol.

But that’s how everything always starts with Anders. Isn’t it?

They lay on the living floor of Anders’ apartment head to head and staring at the ceiling. An empty bottle rattles across the floor when Anders shifts his feet. Mitchell exhales and passes the cigarette over his head to Anders’ waiting fingers. 

Anders takes a drag and slowly exhales before speaking. “So,” his voice is heavy, “new question. Most regrettable sexual experience?”

Mitchell can hear the sly smile in Anders’ voice and without missing a beat he responds, “Anything with you.”

“That’s not fair.” Anders slowly pushes himself up on an elbow so he can look at Mitchell. The cigarette dangles precariously from his fingers. “That’s not how the game is played,” he says petulantly. 

Mitchell raises his eyebrows. 

“You’re supposed to answer truthfully,” he whines. 

This makes Mitchell laugh. “Okay. I’ll play correctly,” Mitchell concedes once his giggles subside. “But I require a different question. I don't like that one.”

“Picky. Picky. Picky,” Anders chants while taking another drag and reclining on his side so he can still see Mitchell. “Fine. Craziest public sexual experience.”

Anders misses the dark narrowing of Mitchell’s eyes. 

“You first.”

“But—”

“You never said who had to answer first.”

Anders drops his head back and stares at his ceiling. He purses his lips while he thinks about it.

“Do you really have _that_ many?” Mitchell teases.

Anders rolls his eyes to look at Mitchell.

“Skiing. In a public restroom.”

Mitchell tilts his head. “Sorry?”

“Sorry, Grandpa,” Anders smirks, “I forget that your not hip to the lingo of us young’uns.”

Mitchell snorts. “I would be. If I cared.”

“To enlighten you. Skiing is when a girl or guy jerks off two guys at the same time.”

“Fascinating,” Mitchell says dryly.

“Your turn.”

Mitchell grins wickedly, “I don’t have any.”

Anders huffs and flicks the dead cigarette butt at Mitchell. “Spoil sport.”

“Sore loser.”

Anders breathes heavily through his nose. “I’d like to take you skiing.”

For once Mitchell has nothing to say.

“Not like that, you pervert,” Anders rolls his eyes with a grin. “Actual skiing. Non-sexual skiing.”

Mitchell did not believed him. But Anders had been determined to prove that he was not a degenerate with a one track mind.

So here they were. Knee deep in snow and Mitchell had needed to swap his fingerless gloves for some real mittens.

“This is a horrible idea,” Mitchell scowls as he tries desperately not to slide backwards into a tree.

“That’s why you’re here with the baby ‘hill’ and the magic carpet.”

Mitchell frowns, but wobbles the second he stops paying attention.

“I’m sure an old man like yourself will have no problems learning this especially of all the kiddies can.” Anders nods in the direction of a group of children wearing coats and snow pants in primary colors who are waiting for the ski instructor to show up.

“I still think its stupid.”

Anders moves closer to avoid being overheard. “How about this, Mr. Grumpy-pants,” Mitchell’s scowl deepens. “If you don’t like it I promise we can spend the rest of the trip in our suite ordering room service. Maybe we can even throw in some single-footed skiing.”

Mitchell sucks on his teeth and nods. “Would have been nice to at least _see_ the suite before you dragged us out here.”

Anders looks beyond Mitchell. “I think that’s your instructor. I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Did you think I was going to sit around all afternoon and watch you wiggle your way down this slight incline?” Anders looks pointedly at slope. “I’m going to go do some actual skiing while they teach you how to not fall on your pretty little ass.”

Before Anders moves away he pats Mitchell’s ass with his gloved hand.

Mitchell fakes a scandalized expression which makes Anders laugh.

Mitchell keeps an eye out for Anders while he is being taught how to turn and stop and take off his skis. He spots Anders in his sleek, black snow gear (as close to a suit as he could get with insulated winter weather gear) a few times. Then he does not see him for a while. And he assumes that he was busy learning how to press into the ground with his big toe or something.

Then the red uniforms of ski patrol catch his eye and a lump jumps into his throat and adrenaline spikes through his body. The same sickening, unpleasant thrill that you get when police sirens light up in your rear view or when you hear sirens and you don’t know where a loved one is.

He tears his eyes away from their blazing uniforms and the stretcher and tries to listen to the instructor. However, he keeps looking in their direction with a sinking feeling. When they are close enough he catches sight of Anders’ sleek black coat. He starts to excuse himself from the class. In his rush he slides backwards and gets tangled in the snow fence and it takes a good ten minutes to free him.

* * *

“What do you mean I can’t get a rum and coke?” Anders growls. 

“Im sorry, sir,” the room service girl says timidly. “But it’s only 8 am. The bar isn’t even open yet.”

“With the amount of money I’m paying I should be able to order any drink I want at any hour and have it delivered to my room before the glass even starts sweating!”

Mitchell looks at the closed bathroom door that separates him from the carnage taking place in his hotel room, and for once it is not his fault. He feels bad for the girl, he really does, but it _is_ nice to see someone else getting in trouble for a change.

He does not emerge from the bathroom until he hears the suite’s door click quietly shut.

“Are you done abusing the staff?” he asks leaning languidly against the wall and considering Anders.

“ _That_ was not abuse. It was simply reminding them who pays for this rubbish,” Anders snaps and tosses the menu off the bed.

Mitchell considers his normally unflappable boyfriend with a steady gaze before scooping up the menu and returning it to the bedside table.

The suite is ridiculously large. There is a king-size bed, a couch, and a television so large that Anders could have stretched out on it and not reached the edges. In the corner of the room a Christmas tree was set up with fake gifts under it. 

-

_“Who on earth wants a white Christmas tree?” Mitchell asked when he first saw the tree in the corner of their suite._

_“Those of us with good taste,” Anders stated simply seemingly unbothered by his injuries for the moment. Mitchell was sure that it would not last._

-

And it had not lasted. Sometime during the night Anders had woken up and had not fallen back to sleep and he had been an irritable pain in the ass ever since.

“Well, at least it’s not a bad place to be cooped up indoors.” Mitchell stretches himself out on the bed beside Anders.

Anders grumbles in pain. “Can you not do that? It hurts.”

Mitchell rolls onto his side and looks at Anders.

Anders looks around the room with a frown on his face; Mitchell knows him well enough to know that he is looking for something to complain about.

“I still can’t believe that you get me red roses,” he snorts when his eyes fall on the flowers that sit in a vase on the windowsill. A window that looks out over the slopes and the red gondolas slowly making their way up the mountain.

“Come off it,” Mitchell mumbles; his cheeks turning red. “It was the only kind of flower they had down in the gift shop unless you wanted a bouquet of feel better gloves.”

Anders’ smile changes quickly as he shifts.

“I’m sorry,” Mitchell says softly. He reaches out and trails his fingers over the spectacular bruise that covers Anders’ right side from armpit to his upper thigh.

Mitchell’s touch turns teasing, “Serves you right though. Maybe next time you’ll stay with me and the kiddies.”

Anders’ squirms, but does not make it far because almost any movement causes discomfort. “When can I have another of those pills?”

“Not for another hour or so.”

“Fascist.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“And what am I supposed to do until then?” Anders huffs. “Watch everyone else have a good time?” He flaps a hand in the direction of the window.

Mitchell smirks, “I’m surprised at you, Anders.”

“What?”

“I would have thought you would think of something more exciting to do.”

Anders rolls his eyes. “I can hardly move, John. And _someone_ has hidden the pain pills.”

“Who said you had to move?"

Mitchell’s touch becomes firmer. 

Anders groans as it lingers on the edge between pleasure and pain until it most definitely comes down on the pleasurable side.


End file.
